


To Find the Silver Stuffing

by the_seaworthy_muffin



Series: Merthur Week 2020 Prompt Fills [6]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Pendragon Returns (Merlin), Baking, Feels, Fluff and Humor, M/M, baking mishaps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:21:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28351575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_seaworthy_muffin/pseuds/the_seaworthy_muffin
Summary: Sometimes, one has to try and find the silver lining in things…… or, in Arthur’s case, the Silver Stuffing of the Cake. Arthur decides to do something nice for Merlin over the holidays, but baking is not as easy as it seems. Cue kitchen disasters and a fond, exasperated Merlin.Written for Merthur Week 2020 Day 6: “Can I uncover my eyes yet?” “No, stop being impatient” + Humour!
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Merthur Week 2020 Prompt Fills [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2066679
Comments: 9
Kudos: 40
Collections: Merthur Week 2020





	To Find the Silver Stuffing

**Author's Note:**

> Ah I am late! Though it's still December 26th somewhere in the world, or so the saying goes...... :>  
> I've been re-reading Katherinefromphilly's wonderful We Begin Again series, and it's stuffed me chock-full of Arthur Returns Feels. This is the result.  
> Fingers crossed that the banter between the two qualifies as Humor!  
> *Disclaimer: I own neither Arthur nor Merlin. Though I wouldn't protest if anyone was interested in gifting me part-ownership :O :)

“Can I uncover my eyes yet?”

Merlin’s voice floats from the tall, spindly-legged chairs he keeps along the plastic-topped kitchen counter of his flat. Arthur frowns down at the mixture resting in his bowl, pinching a little bit to bring it to his mouth. He had no idea cake-batter was supposed to be so…… watery.

“No, _Mer_ lin,” he says, because Kings must always sound confident no matter what. (It raises morale, his late father would say.) “Just a little longer, I said. Must you be so impatient?”

“It’s not impatient when you’ve ambushed me in my kitchen and forced me to keep my eyes shut for, let’s see- thirty sodding minutes. And I think I reserve the right to check if you’ve burnt the kitchen down yet. It’s my flat, after all.”

“I said don’t look!” Arthur hisses, brandishing his spatula. It’s supposed to be a surprise. Something nice for Merlin to wake up to, after all that he’s done for Arthur over the years. Arthur knows himself well enough to understand that a cheesy, heartfelt thank-you is probably beyond himself, and baking a thank-you cake is the next best thing.

“I didn’t,” Merlin says. “My eyes were closed. I just used a little something,” that ridiculous floppy hand-gesture he uses to refer to his magic these days, “to check the time.”

“No magic at the kitchen table,” Arthur retorts, turning back towards his ( _Merlin’s_ ) cooking book. Merlin huffs, settling back into the admittedly uncomfortable chair Arthur has chosen for him, and conjures himself a blindfold instead. It’s absurd and fluffy and has kittens on it, and Arthur can’t decide whether he wants to snog him senseless or ruffle his hair.

Arthur swears the batter has multiplied while he was busy fooling about with Merlin. Because- does this even fit into the oven? Two cups sugar, the recipe had said, and Arthur had picked Merlin’s favorite Garfield Mug on principle. It _was_ a treat for Merlin, after all. Maybe Arthur ought to have chosen a smaller cup. Like one of those tiny silly cups that Merlin insists on calling ‘shot glasses.’

“Don’t burn down my kitchen,” Merlin says, cheeky as you please. The edges of his mouth are twitching up, betraying his mirth, and Arthur glares at him without heat. Oh, just wait and see. Arthur has never failed at anything he set his mind to in his _life_. He would bet his crown (probably somewhere in Wales, he’s heard, rotting nicely at the bottom of a lake) that his cake will be the best Merlin has ever had.

☞

Two hours and innumerable mixing bowls later, Merlin has resorted to creating little dragons with peanuts, and Arthur’s cake has collapsed into a ruinous sludge that bears more resemblance to cement than something actually made for people to eat.

Arthur glares at it, just on principle.

“I would have had you beheaded if we were still back in Camelot,” Arthur tells the cake. He could have sworn it cackled right back at him.

“Anytime today, _Sire_ ,” Merlin drawls, in that special way of his that makes it sound like _dollop-head_. All of a sudden, Arthur is overcome with the urge to throw his mixing spoon out of the window, and the cake to boot. All he’d wanted to have done was to try and do something _nice_ for Merlin for once, and the cake looks like something out of a witch’s cauldron, and Merlin is mocking him (alright, he probably isn’t, but it feels like that more than anything else) and Arthur wants to scream and get his sword to hack at something.

Alright, fine. _Fine_. Arthur did his best, and Merlin can take it or just- go. Pride smarting, eyes prickling, Arthur sighs and slaps two dishes onto the counter.

“Fine. Come on in. Just so you know, though, I’m having you beheaded if you laugh at me.”

Merlin’s head pokes through, hair tussled, blue eyes curving around the corners. “Would I dare presume? – _Oh._ ”

“Yes, Merlin, it is your cake, seeing as it is your ‘favorite time of the year’, though heavens help me if I’ve ever understood why. No, _Mer_ lin, I am not a cook. I am a king. Who would normally never have stooped low enough to actually try to _cook_ , gods know why I’d even tried. Does that satisfy you?”  
Merlin doesn’t say anything for a moment, eyes rounded, lips twitching furiously, torn between confusion, laughter, and a deep, all-abiding fondness.

Then he smiles up at Arthur, all dimpled smile and beaming blue eyes.

“Yes,” Merlin says. “Yes, I actually think it does.”

☞

For all its horrific exterior, once one drops the preconception that it’s a cake, Arthur’s confection actually doesn’t taste half bad.

“It reminds me of that pudding cook once made,” Merlin hums, around a mouthful of gloopy dough dripping with sugar. “Do you remember? That one time she came down with the hacking cough. She couldn’t smell her way past the stables, it was so bad.”

“I am not sick,” Arthur grits back, affronted. It doesn’t stop him from dropping a quick kiss onto the top of Merlin’s head. Merlin grins back at him.

“I know. Which only serves to make this feat all the more remarkable.”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

Merlin presses closer, all sharp angles and jostling limbs, but Arthur pulls him close anyway.

“You know,” Merlin says, “It’s the first time anyone’s ever tried to cook for me. Since, you know, you-“

Arthur’s death is still a sore topic for both of them, and Arthur simply hums in acknowledgement. He feels Merlin’s shoulder shift against his side in a shrug.

“Well. It was a nice thing for you to do.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Arthur snipes back automatically. Merlin hums. Arthur doesn’t comment on the slight warble Merlin tries so hard to hide.

Thousand years an immortal sorcerer, Arthur muses. It’s a miracle he’s managed to stay so wonderfully daft after all that.

The kitchen smells like spilt milk, and sugar, and butter, and cinnamon, and that wild, unidentifiable scent of lightning and fir that could only ever be Merlin.

_Next year_ , Arthur thinks. _Those shot glasses instead of mugs. Maybe that’s the secret._

He’ll figure it out. He’s Arthur Pendragon, after all. And he isn’t going anywhere for a long, long time. ▨

**Author's Note:**

> For those unfamiliar with baking, you must NOT use everyday cups when measuring for baking!! One cup is actually a legitimate unit (usually approximately 250ml, though it may differ according to the country you're in) - and using a mug like Arthur will result in gigantic portions of Cake. :> Though I wouldn't protest to a huge helping of holiday dessert right now. :)


End file.
